


drown in the desert

by firstaudrina



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 14:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13366524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/pseuds/firstaudrina
Summary: After they’re done he rotates his shoulder and cracks his knuckles, four quick little clicks, like she’s really worn him out.





	drown in the desert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girljustdied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/gifts).



> Set in the vaguest of vague non-times because I just wanted to write The Porn.

The impact of Karen's back hitting the bricks is enough to make her bones vibrate, but she barely notices because Frank's body is caging her in again. It's startling how comfortable she has become with the weight of his body considering they have never slept together and barely touched. It's always like this, shocking and violent, protection and escape. Frank trying to shield her with the breadth of his shoulders and Karen curling her fingers against a Kevlar vest. It's rough against already-scraped knuckles. 

A notch in the edifice of a building hides them effectively enough that Karen can hear boots carrying past in the street without so much as a pause. Karen takes a shuddering, steadying breath. Her heart is racing, adrenaline and relief tangling up into something else, something that that has everything and nothing to do with how Frank is leaning so close that his mouth could touch her throat if she breathed any deeper. 

They should move. They should get the hell out of here before those boots circle back around but they don't do anything, don't shift an inch. Not until Frank turns his head slightly, says in her ear, "Karen?"

Karen turns too and they're temple to temple, cheek to cheek. Her nose nudges against his but their lips don't touch. Instead of answering, Karen wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs, his fingers skimming over her torso until they slip beneath her skirt.

She's surprised he lets her do it but more surprised when he pushes aside the cotton crotch of her panties and his cool fingertips make warm contact. He tilts his head, eyebrow quirking like, _Oh yeah? Alright._ She can almost hear him say it. One of his knees nudges against the inside of hers and Karen takes the hint, lets her stance widen and hips drop slightly, back sliding against stone. 

Yeah. Alright.

He's good with his hands. The one not currently coasting over the sensitive skin of her cunt has threaded itself in her hair, solid palm and heavy fingers curving around the back of her head. She presses into it, tingles breaking out over her body from scalp to soles, radiating from every spot Frank touches. He's good but he's slow and he's careful, and he seems more interested in watching her face than anything else he's doing. 

He tries to slide his finger inside her — the middle, she thinks, his knuckles nestled against her on either side — but even though Karen is breathless and wanting, her body isn't quite ready to let him in. The air is still dense with tension like the aftermath of a bomb going off, danger and desire braiding themselves together inside her. Frank switches gears neatly, fingertips trailing back up to find her clitoris, to stroke her until she gets hard. Her pushed-aside panties keep trying to sidle back into place and Frank keeps nudging them away again ineffectually with the heel of his hand, until one time too many has Karen reaching down in frustration to jerk the offending garment back to the side and hold them there.

Even though she did it, even though she started this, it shocks her. It feels suddenly obscene to be standing in a side street almost in the open, fully dressed with her shoes on and her purse strap cutting across her chest, but her cunt exposed to cool air and questing fingers. The contradiction, the nervous dirtiness of it, makes Karen's body contract in a way that feels painfully good, sends sudden slickness over Frank's hand.

This time it's easy for his finger to fit inside her. He still does it with that same sense of restrained caution, moving gradually and giving her time to adjust or change her mind, or something. Karen is resolute, but her heart is jackhammering so hard she honestly thinks she might die if she doesn't get more of this. She kisses him, the shapes of their mouths almost incompatible: the center of his always-bruised upper lip drags against her lower, his skin hot and swollen and tender. He'd gotten hit in the mouth in the altercation that preceded this one but it hadn't broken the skin, just left his lips unwieldy and overheated. Karen doesn't let the kiss deepen so she can have that drag over and over again. When she attempts to kiss corner of his mouth, the side of his face, he turns away before she can make contact and slots their lips together again instead. 

"Frank," she breathes, impatient. 

She wants to slide a knife along his seams and peel his clothes from his body. She wants him to tear her shirt open, wants him to yank down the sensible molded cup of her bra and put that heated mouth on her nipple. She can imagine taking him in her bed, on her back with her legs wide and hips arching, Frank holding her arms down at the wrists. All of him so thick. Meaty thighs pushing hers apart, wide shoulders over her, his barreled torso. The weight of his body on hers.

But Karen isn't sure how they'd ever find themselves there, in a bed together with all the time in the world. A part of her thinks it could only be desperate and grasping like this, caught up like this in the middle of something else, something bigger. 

"Come on, Frank," she says, and presses her forehead against his, leans into his space. Her grip tightens on his arms, digs into tensed muscle and old bruises. When they kiss again, it's mouths open and shared breath, something too fragile passed from one to the next. 

"Jesus, Karen," he says, low and rough and overwhelmed. He hefts one of her legs up around him, lifts her another inch and sends her rattling into the bricks again, making her gasp. She pushes up on her grounded foot because she likes being a little taller than him and swooping down to kiss his busted mouth, her pale hair spilling against his bloody cheek.

She slides one hand between them to curve over his as he touches her, fingertips slipping over his knuckles and her own skin. It starts from far away, the feeling. Usually the shudder begins somewhere deep inside her, spiraling out through her body until her fingertips buzz, but this time it's different. First her toes curl in her flats and her fingers contract into a fist against Frank's arm. Her thighs tense and her knees lock, back arching as the rumbling travels down her spine until it rolls through her hips, explodes at the place where her hand and Frank's are working together, working her over.

Karen tries to muffle the sound of her orgasm and what comes out is a tight, hard whimper imprisoned behind tightly closed lips. But it feels so much bigger than that small noise, like her body came apart and the pieces weren't put back together quite right. They disentangle gently but remain in close proximity. Frank rotates his shoulder and cracks his knuckles, four quick little clicks, like she's really worn him out.

Karen takes a second to catch her breath, just a single quick inhale, before she's hooking her damp fingers under the shoulder strap of Frank's Kevlar and tugging him away from their hiding spot. _Let's go_ , says the tilt of her head, and he follows.


End file.
